Concrete Angel
by Velithil
Summary: Sonfic, Duo POV. Dou thinks about life.


Concrete Angel

She walks to school with a lunch she packed Nobody knows what she's holding back Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday She hides the pain with linen and lace

We go to school always with a fresh set of bruises. No body notice the five boys that all have them. Sometimes wearing the same cloths that we wore the day before. We try to hide what is going on. We tried to hide it from even ourselves. Nobody knows that we are holding ourselves back to live slightly normal during this war time.

The teacher wonders but doesn't ask It's hard to hide the pain behind the mask Bearing the burden of a secret storm Sometimes she wishes she was never born

It's amazing how many schools you go to and they don't notice any thing and if they do notice they don't ask about it. We all have our masks. They hide the pain and troubles we all feel. Heero is the perfect soldier. Trowa our silent clown. Quatre is our mother hen. Wufei is our justice man and me, well I'm the happy-go-lucky Duo. Trying to live my life as a normal teenager. But war is hard on everyone, including us. But to have to bear the burden of being a soldier when your only 15 is huge. We are the major force against OZ, if we stop fighting then innocent people will die. I'm sure at one point or another we all wished we were never born and its hard for use to live like this.

Through the wind and the rain She stands hard as stone In a world that she can't rise above But her dreams give her wings And she flies to a place where she's loved Concrete angel

Through the bad times and the worse times we stand through it all as a stone in a storm.We can't do anything else. This is all we have. Most of us don't even have a home to go back to but that doesn't stop us. We all have dreams though most people don't understand them. I want a home and to be loved and that keeps me going. I want to be loveed just live every one else.

Somebody cries in the middle of the night The neighbors hear but they turn out the light A fragile soul caught in the hands og fate When morning comes it'll be too late

We are often close to death and it makes you wonder if people notice. Why don't they do anything? Why do they ignore it? Were we just cought up with fate? What if one time we don't make it? By the time someone notices will it be too late? Will they even feel remourse or feel the tradgy of our lives taken so young? Probly not, they had no problem taking our childhood. Why do they sit while we fight? Would they notice? Would they care? Do they care? Did they care when they took our innocense? Our childhood? Made most of us orphans? Ignore the crys and deaths of those who never made it? What about afterwards? Would they care that they ruined our childhood and left us to struggle? Soldiers without a cause? Thanks heres a medal, now disappear?

Through the wind and the rain She stands hard as stone In a world that she can't rise above But her dreams give her wings And she flies to a place where she's loved Concrete angel

Too many questions have too few answers. We suck it up, toughen our skins, so that we can try and pull through this war alive and with as little of innocent blood on our hands. Not many people know what its like to be torture or raped. They don't understand how hard it ids to keep a good out look on life and to keep living after stuff like that happens but we mange and with as much sanity as the next person.

A statue stands in a sheaded place An angel girl with an upturned face A name is written on a polished rock A broken heart that the world forgot

As I walked though a park thinking these thoughts. I came upon a statue. It was of an angel girl. Her head looking toward the sky. As i stared at her I realized that, that was exactly what we are like. I related to her. She stands there looking towards her dreams. Her name is worn out but it makes you wonder. Will we end up like that with broken souls, lives, hearts, and wonder even more will the world foget us? I realized then we most relate to this concrete angel. Maybe we are concrete angels.

The End 


End file.
